Torridity
by Angela3
Summary: Buffy gets more than she bargained for when Spike becomes a resident of the Summer's household.


Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything involved with them. I take no pride in this little piece of fluff, but thought that it might amuse someone so decided to post it. This particular story has no direct relation to happenings on the show, but it would happen before Season 6, sometime after Buffy's resurrection.  
  
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A thick blanket of heat and humidity hung over Sunnydale. Summer had been late in coming, but now there was no doubt that it had arrived. The Slayer had tried everything to escape the heat, but it was hopeless. Now she tried to simply push it out of her mind. It wasn't so hot if she didn't think about it. She only hoped that the rain clouds overhead would break soon. The earth was parched and dry, begging for nourishment; some relief from the relentless heat.  
  
She tried to focus on the task at hand: slaying. But as she struggled to dust five persistent vamps, she found her clothing clinging to her and her temperature rising. It was too damn hot to be out working. She wanted nothing more than a cool glass of lemonade. Yes, lemonade and air conditioning. Was that too much to ask for?  
  
She made quick work of the vamps, eager to return to the comfort of her home. She kicked one in the small of his back and sent him falling over a tombstone, where a stake met his heart from behind. Two more fell at her feet with a few swift kicks to the knees and were soon dust below her. One of the remaining two tried to retreat, but Buffy did not even move from where she stood, choosing instead to simply throw her stake into his heart. As she bent to retrieve her stake, the last one managed to grab her from behind, but she flipped him over her shoulder and nailed him in the heart before he even knew what was happening. Vamps were so stupid, really. Did they actually think they were any match for the Slayer? She had yet to meet one worthy of her time. Yet still, they did provide a bit of a work-out…her chest heaved now from her exertion and she struggled slightly to catch her breath, leaning onto a tombstone while she rested. She should start training more, she decided. She wasn't invincible, after all.  
  
She stood now, ready to go home, and felt a presence behind her. It was another vamp, she was sure. He probably thought he was real smooth, hiding out until she finished off his friends so that he could take her on one-on- one. She turned swiftly, moving her hand to plunge her stake into him and finish him off, but he reacted faster than she could even think, shoving her poised hand behind her head, the force from the push knocking her to the ground. "Hey, watch it!" he said. "What are you trying to do, kill me?" Realizing that that thought was not beyond the realm of possibility, he felt a little silly, but said, "You should really be more careful, 'specially before you realize who you're dealing with."  
  
Recognizing his unmistakable accent, it was only then that she looked up to realize that this was no ordinary vamp that had landed her on her bottom. It was Spike. He took a drag of his cigarette now, and with a little chuckle said, "What the hell happened, anyway?"  
  
She shot him a look as he extended his hand to help her up, but she accepted it and rose to her feet once more. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said as she brushed the bits of grass off her bottom. With a shake of her golden curls, she turned on her heels to head home.  
  
He followed her. "I knocked you on your ass with nothing more than a little shove, that's what I'm talking about. And dusting those vamps didn't seem like a real walk in the park either."  
  
"You were watching me?"  
  
He ignored the question. "I thought you said you could handle yourself. You couldn't even handle me."  
  
She turned to face him. "I can handle you just fine. Should I kick your ass first or just go ahead and stake you?" In a flash, her stake appeared in her hand.  
  
"I don't know about you love," he responded. He lowered his voice. "But I'm always up for a little foreplay."  
  
Buffy scoffed. "I shouldn't waste my time on you. Maybe I'll just get down to business and end this conversation here."  
  
She wasn't sure in the dark, but she thought she saw him roll his eyes at her. "Cut the crap, love," he said. "You know you can't do it." He tossed his cigarette to the ground, as if ready to face her.  
  
"Oh really?" she challenged, cocking an eyebrow at him. She moved for his heart, but hesitated. Of course she couldn't do it. Why was he always right? Taking advantage of her indecision, Spike grabbed her stake-bearing hand and pulling her arm around in front of her, nearly wrapping it around her small waist and spinning her around so that her back was to him now. He flicked the stake out of her hand, and she moved her free arm to escape his grasp, but found it pinned behind her back in the process.  
  
Flustered, she struggled in his arms. "Doesn't that hurt?" she asked of his aggressive efforts.  
  
He pulled her captive arms tighter, her joints snapping in protest at the motion. She whimpered, barely audibly, but realized that he wasn't even trying to hurt her because he still remained comfortable. How much damage could he do if he was trying to hurt her? It had been a long time since they had fought fairly. "Actually, it feels great, pet," he teased, pulling her body flush against his. She could feel his erection against her ass now and she knew that she could easily pull her head back and connect with his nose or send him to the ground with just a kick of her legs. At the very least she could stomp his foot. But she did not move, she only stood there in his grasp, as still as a statue. The only sound between them was her shallow breathing.  
  
He released her in time with a sudden crack of thunder, perhaps after deciding she'd had enough abuse for one night. She looked up at the luminous rain clouds overhead, but they had yet to open their gates. Looking at him now, she glared and rubbed her sore arms where he had held her. He looked a little sorry that he had injured her, even if unintentionally, and apologized softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you love. Only wanted to scare you a little." He kicked himself for saying it out loud, but it was true. He loved feeling so powerful over her, although he realized in the back of his head that she could have easily escaped. So why hadn't she? Was she toying with him? Perhaps she felt sorry for him in his chipped state. Maybe she wanted to let him suck what pleasure he could out of beating her up a little. What a little bitch, he thought. She feels sorry for me. How pathetic was he? He didn't need her subtle boosts of his self-esteem. Or did he?  
  
"You don't scare me, Spike," she spat, not even bothering to turn and look at him as she said it, trying to show her calm confidence, but also not facing him because it was a bit of a lie and she knew that he would be able to see through it.  
  
He watched her retreating figure, and shook his head a little sadly. "Buffy!" he called out. She walked a few more steps but paused and turned. "What?" she asked, but he had no more to say, he only tossed her forgotten stake at her. A normal person would have hardly had time to react, but her reflexes were sharp and the stake landed squarely in her hand. "Thanks," she said softly, but he had already turned and was headed in the other direction.  
  
Just then, she felt a drop of rain hit her shoulder. It only sprinkled at first, but it came down faster and faster, and she knew she would never make it home without getting thoroughly soaked. Not that she minded so much - it was a welcome relief from the oppressing heat. Yet she feared her new shoes would not hold up as well as she, and she was tired. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Spike just disappearing into his crypt, and though she kicked herself for doing it, she had no other choice. Changing her path now, she made her way across the cemetery, seeking shelter from the storm.  
  
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Bursting through the door of Spike's crypt, the Slayer's jaw nearly hit the floor to discover the already half-naked vampire crawling out of his pants.  
  
She laughed, not knowing what else to do. "I see you were expecting me," she teased.  
  
"Ever heard of knocking?" he asked. Pulling his pants back on, Buffy wasn't quite sure what to think about the fact that he was not embarrassed that she'd gotten a peep show. It was sexy, really, that he was so confidant. But why shouldn't he be? He was strong. It was only natural that he be so well muscled.  
  
"I don't have much time for etiquette," she answered, a bit distracted. She tried not to stare, but he was still shirtless, and she realized that she had never seen him like this before. Not that the shirts he chose to wear left much to the imagination - and she had certainly imagined a lot - but even the imagination could only stretch so far. He has a fantastic body, she realized, but she pushed the thought from her mind. She looked away quickly as he turned to face her, but he had seen her approving gaze and he smirked with the knowledge that she liked what she saw. He bit his lower lip before he called her on it. He would let it slide…she was already blushing as it was.  
  
"So what brings you here, anyway?" he questioned. "Didn't get enough before?"  
  
"It's raining," she said. "I would have gotten soaked if I walked home." She paused. "Why were you taking off your clothes anyway?"  
  
He laughed. "It's as hot as a mug in here, Buffy. I have to cool off somehow."  
  
"Don't you have an A.C.?" she asked.  
  
"What do you think?" He plopped down into his big red chair and turned on the television.  
  
"Why don't you just buy one?"  
  
"I don't have any money, genius."  
  
"So steal one."  
  
He turned to look at her skeptically. "Yeah, I can just see me sneaking into the store now…sliding out discreetly toting my new forty pound treasure, completely unnoticed…"  
  
"I'm sure you could do it," she said. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult. So she thought he was an experienced criminal. Wonderful. Or did it just mean that he was strong and able of accomplishing the task at hand? He shook his head at himself for even being concerned.  
  
"You ever steal anything?" he asked after a moment, trying to continue the conversation. She leaned against a dusty wall now, and tried to absorb what coolness she could from the concrete before answering. "I don't steal," she said. "I work for what I want."  
  
"Yeah, well if I could get a job, maybe I would, too," he shot back.  
  
"Woah, hey, don't get defensive," she said.  
  
"Well, I'm not lazy, you know," he said, a little softer this time.  
  
"Did I say that you were?"  
  
"No, but you implied it."  
  
She sighed, and he continued, looking at the TV instead of her now. "If you want something bad enough, maybe you shouldn't waste your time just longing for it." He turned to her. "Maybe if you really want it, you should just take it and not worry about the consequences."  
  
She said nothing, feeling uncomfortable at the double meaning and what he might be implying. Tearing her eyes away from his, she moved to the door to see if it was still raining. She groaned when she realized that it was. It was going to be a long night. She wanted to go home and get that glass of lemonade. Wanted to go where it was cool. It was an inferno in Spike's crypt. She wanted a nice, cold shower.  
  
Thinking of showers, she wondered out loud, "Spike, where do you shower?"  
  
She could have sworn he hung his head a little. "Here and there," he said. "Mostly I just sneak in places, do my business. If I can't do that, then there's this little stream I go to, it's not too bad - "  
  
She cut him off. "You mean you don't even have running water here?"  
  
He shrugged. "Why bother?"  
  
She sighed. "What about your clothes? How do you wash them?"  
  
"Laundromat, just like anyone else without a washer and dryer," he said. He paused. "Don't see how it's really any of your concern, anyway."  
  
She blurted it out before she even thought about it and wanted to take it back as soon as she said it. "Why don't you come stay at my place? Dawn gets really lonely when I'm out slaying, and you could keep her safe and watch the house while I'm gone. And we have air conditioning, and a shower, and…"  
  
Spike was looking at her seeming very confused and a little shocked. She was rambling on about him coming to live with her. "Buffy…" he said, "are you actually asking me to come live with you? In your house?"  
  
She flushed now; embarrassed that she had even suggested it. "Well, I mean…if you want to, you could, just until it cools down a little…I mean, I do kind of owe you the favor, right?"  
  
"Oh, what the hell?" he laughed. "Why not? What are we waiting for?" Grabbing his shirt and duster and flicking off the TV, he was out the door before she could even respond.  
  
She poked her head out the door. The rain had let off a lot, but it was still coming down. "It's still raining, Spike!" she shouted at his retreating figure. Running back to where she stood in the shelter of the doorway, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her out into the open. "That's your problem, Slayer," he said, going ahead of her now. "You need to learn how to live again!"  
  
She considered arguing the point, but decided not to. With a sigh, she went after him, anxious to finally get back to the comfort of her home. It had been a long, hard, hot night. She had a headache from - well, from God knows what. A little bit of everything, perhaps. And to top it all off, she had actually asked Spike to move in with her. Wondering out loud as she followed behind him, she said, barely a whisper, "What have I gotten myself into?"  
  
Spike heard her comment. He was wondering the same thing himself. It was going to be one hell of a summer, that much he was sure of. Unfortunately, that was the about all that seemed certain.  
  
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So his manners weren't the finest. He left the toilet seat up sometimes, sometimes he forgot to use a coaster, and sometimes he would forget and put his feet up on the coffee table. Sometimes he would forget to say please and thank you or ask politely to pass the salt or the mashed potatoes. Yet these were not the things that bothered Buffy.  
  
Ever since she had invited Spike into her home, he had been a courteous guest. For the most part, he stayed out of the way and respected her privacy; perhaps he wanted to make sure that he remained a welcome visitor. Yet the Slayer was not sure how much more she could take.  
  
It wasn't his fault, really. She had asked him to stay with her, after all. Yet still, he could have rejected the invitation. She almost wished that he had. Because now the tensions were rising so high, she felt as if the windows would shatter at any moment because of the building pressure. She felt as if she were ready to burst as well.  
  
Now she went outside a lot. She tried to discreetly avoid him, but she knew he could tell what she was doing. Somehow, he always had her figured out and she hated that. Absolutely hated it. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted him out. Out of her house. Out of her town. Out of her life. Because things would be so much easier then. There would be no one around to point out her flaws or to know what she really wanted or what she really needed - but then there would be no one to understand her. She needed him. She needed the understanding that only he could provide. She ran now, these thoughts swimming through her head, drowning any sanity that she may have once possessed. She needed to kill something. Needed to dust some vamps. Anything to keep her from thinking about Spike.  
  
Finally, after slaying all the nasties of the night, she headed back towards her home as the moon rose higher in the sky. There was always the possibility that he would be up and active now. She never could tell when he would decide to sleep and when to go about his business. Perhaps she could sneak in unnoticed. But she wasn't even tired. Slaying energized her, invigorated her. No, she was anything but tired. She would go home and shower, that was it. She needed a nice, cold shower.  
  
She slipped in and was relieved to hear Spike making himself a snack in the kitchen, singing one of his songs. Slinking up the stairs, she paused at Dawn's room to hear her stereo blasting something that sounded like Pearl Jam. Spike was really rubbing off on them. Poking her head in the door, she waved at Dawn, who sat in a chair in the corner reading a magazine.  
  
Buffy smiled as she headed to her mother's room. Spike had been staying in her bedroom, after Dawn had stumbled upon his habit of sleeping naked when he had been crashing on the sofa. Deciding it was a bit dangerous to have a naked man so publicly displayed, Spike had moved to Buffy's room and she to her mother's. Secretly, she wished that she had been the one to unearth such a dirty little secret, and try as she might, she could not push from her mind the image and horribly dirty thoughts she had of Spike's naked body resting under her sheets now. She had slept naked in that bed as well, she thought. Now he was naked where she had been naked. Maybe she could pretend to be looking for something in her room and "accidentally" pull the covers off the bed, just to take a peek. He probably wouldn't even wake up, and in case he did, she could prepare a good excuse. Now she kicked herself for even imagining such a scenario. It was ridiculous.  
  
Slipping out of her clothes, she turned her thoughts to Dawn's new friend, Jackson. He was a very attractive boy, and very nice. "Almost too nice," as Spike had pointed out, but she was sure he was just being paranoid. He was very protective of Dawn. So protective that he could even find the faults in a boy as nice as Jackson. They didn't talk to each other about such things, but Buffy suspected that Dawn had a little crush on Jackson. Perhaps they would even start dating soon. Dawn had teased Buffy about being "hot for Spike" once, but that had been a one-time event because Buffy had not found it funny in the least. So now they kept their romantic lives on a personal level, and Buffy did not pester her sister about her feelings for Jackson out of respect. Regardless of what Dawn felt for the boy, she was glad that her sister was branching out and making new friends. She'd had a rough couple of months and needed all the support she could get, especially from people her own age that she could relate to.  
  
Pulling on her bathrobe, Buffy journeyed down the stairs a way and listened carefully for any noise in the kitchen. Hearing nothing, she glanced towards her room, and seeing the faint light coming out from underneath the door was glad that Spike was out of the way for the time. It was ridiculous, really…having to sneak about in her own house. Something would have to give very soon, she thought.  
  
After pouring herself a tall glass of water in the kitchen, she headed back up the stairs to the bathroom, drinking it as she went. Even inside the comfort of her home, it was still hot, and she longed for a cold shower.  
  
She hurried for the bathroom now, bursting through the door far too quickly. The glass that she clutched in her hand slipped from her grasp and went tumbling to the floor, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was glad that she had chosen plastic over glass for her refreshment. As if in slo-mo, she watched the water spill from the glass and onto the floor, the ice cubes gliding across the tile like ice-skaters on a frosted lake, coming to rest at his feet.  
  
Spike's feet. Spike was in her bathroom. Very wet and very naked. Just standing there, looking at her now. It was like a dream, him standing there as steam from the shower fogged up the mirror that would not have shown his reflection anyway. Her head spun. It was a strange combination: the ice water from her drink and the hot water from the shower. Her hot body, longing for coolness, and his cold body, longing for heat. He spoke, snapping her out of her trance.  
  
"You really don't know how to knock, do you?" he teased, a large grin on his face. She couldn't believe it. Was he actually enjoying this situation?  
  
"It's your fault for not locking the door!" she retorted. Why was he still naked? Why had he not covered himself up by now?  
  
He answered her unspoken question. "There's no towels in here," he said. "Do you think you could get me one?"  
  
Eager to leave the awkwardness of the situation, Buffy practically ran for the linen closet. As she reentered the bathroom to deliver the retrieved towel to him, she lost her footing on the wet floor and found herself in the arms of the naked vampire, vaguely aware that he was chuckling and asking her if she was alright. He was naked. He was holding her. Naked, holding her. Naked. Holding her. Holding her naked. She did not move. She could not breathe. There was too much steam in here. She needed to get out. She felt as if she would be sick.  
  
Finally, she moved and sat down and the toilet, burying her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, really she did. But she did not. Finally, she looked up to find him drying his head with the towel. Still naked. Why was it priority to dry his hair? Why did he refuse to cover himself?  
  
"Would you just cover up already?" she snapped suddenly, startling them both.  
  
He looked at her, seemingly a little hurt. "Sorry, love," he said, wrapping the towel around his waist now. "Should have said something if it bothered you."  
  
"Of course it bothers me!" she said, angry. Angry that he was so seemingly unaffected by the whole ordeal and that she was so monumentally embarrassed.  
  
"What is it, Slayer?" he teased her. "Afraid that you like it a little too much?"  
  
She looked up at him, shocked. She rose to her feet now, and when she could think of no adequate rebuttal, headed for the door. But before she could get there, one of Spike's toned arms shut it in her face. Still dazed from the whole ordeal, she followed his hand, which lay flat on the door now, keeping it shut, all the way up his arm with her eyes. His forearms were impressive, and she admired the viens that rippled over the muscles like little mountain ranges. His bicep was large and powerful, and her eyes roamed finally up to his face. The look in his eyes was honest and hungry...and knowing that she had gotten in over her head, she gulped before saying, "Let me out."  
  
But of course he did not. Instead, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, and slowly lowered the other from it's position holding the door closed. With this hand, he cupped her little face lightly and said sincerely, "Let me in."  
  
She felt an urging, like a strong current, sweeping her powerlessly away towards something unknown - vast and frightening, and beautifully terrible. As he kissed her with a tenderness and passion all at once, she realized that she was no longer in control, and perhaps she never truly had been. And though a part of her was scared, her head and her heart screamed that there was no reason to be afraid. So she let go; she made herself vulnerable to him. She could feel his lips and his hands, everywhere at once now, and she wanted him to simply take her…in both a raw, sexual way and a pure, emotional way. Right or wrong, she realized as he planted kisses all along her neck that fate does not lie in our own hands, yet she did not care. For once in her life, she was ready to drop the oars and let the current take her where it may.  
  
Her fantastic surreal moment was shattered by a sharp knock on the door. "Buffy," Dawn was saying. "Can I come in?" she asked as she entered the bathroom.  
  
Shock registered on Dawn's face as she saw the two and realized from the entwined position what they must have been doing. Embarrassment overcame her initial surprise, and her cheeks flushed as she hastily exited the bathroom, babbling mostly incoherent apologizes as she went.  
  
Spike released Buffy now, and she felt cold and empty as she was torn from his embrace. He looked at her a little sheepishly. "I'm sorry love," he said. "I wish the little bit hadn't seen that."  
  
Buffy didn't know what to say. "I…I mean, it's probably better…" she stammered.  
  
"Right…no telling how far things could have gone if…"  
  
She slapped him then. She did not know why, but she immediately regretted it after she did it. "Oh God…Oh God Spike, I'm sorry," she said, reaching a hand up and touching his face where she had hit him.  
  
What he did next was perhaps the most shocking thing of all. He smiled before kissing her, a soft and sweet kiss. "Don't worry love," he said. "I understand. You're not ready yet." He smiled. "But you'll cave too, sooner or later. Mark my words."  
  
He may have winked at her as he exited the bathroom, and Buffy sank to the floor in defeat, for she knew that once again, Spike was right. 


End file.
